Darkbloom
by NelsonSmandela
Summary: Post-BD. "Everyone in my world is ageless, unchanging, while I feel like I'm hurtling toward old age on a runaway train. I can feel my cells dividing." A half-vampire, half-girl on the cusp of maturity, Renesmee grapples with the life she's always known.
1. Chapter 1

**Les Femmes Noires One-Shot Contest**

**Title: Darkbloom**

**Your pen name: NelsonSmandela**

**Characters: Renesmee**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight; I just wanted to hear what happened after the non-battle. ^_^**

✼-✼-✼

The day I saw them in the woods, I wanted to destroy something.

I sat in the tallest tree I could find, having climbed to the very top, until I could see all the way to the river. My mother and father had gone hunting hours before, and I could see no sign of them, even beyond the Sol Duc. I sat back against the tall pine's strong trunk, pulling my book out of my coat pocket.

I dangled my legs lazily off the branch as I read, growing more and more disgusted with the perverted narrator of the book the Denali clan had given me. Just months before, we'd made a trip to Alaska, my first time away from Forks. None of the wolves had come with us, which was very odd, as I was so used to their daily presence at one time or another. We stayed with old friends of the family, the Denalis, whom I had met once previously as a small child. Tanya was teaching me to speak Russian, because she said it was much easier to pick up as a child. I didn't bother telling her I'd never felt like a child a day in my life. She'd given me several Russian books; I loved the way the authors' names rolled off my tongue: Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Bulgakov.

I glanced at the cover of my current read. _Lolita_. The cover art was a picture of a young girl's legs, which featured prominently in the narrator's fantasies. _Ick_. Still, some twisted part of me persevered through his horny ramblings to see if it would get good.

Tilting my head toward the sun, I closed my eyes briefly, letting the warmth wash over my face. I heard a Quileute wolf phasing somewhere a ways off, the sound like a tree shaking its branches very hard and fast, if such a thing were possible. I wondered who was nearby.

There was a rustling in the bushes on the forest's edge, and my eyes snapped open. _Jacob_. I felt a faint smile touch my lips. He was probably my closest friend — one of the only friends I had outside my immediate family. While my parents and family hovered over me, watching my every movement obsessively, Jacob was the one person besides my grandpa Charlie whom I could _just be_ around. He understood more than my grandpa; Jacob had been there for me many times when my frustration at being the only one of my kind, at feeling like a misfit among immortals, had taken over my senses.

Still hundreds of yards away but visible to my eyes in the late afternoon sun, Jacob strode out of the bushes toward the lapping water, kneeling to dip his hands in and wash his face and neck. He was stark naked, and I stifled a gasp; I'd never seen any man naked, let alone someone I knew so … personally. I took in the solid muscles of his huge arms and shoulders, the way his back swept down in a graceful curve where it met his legs. I'd never thought to look at a man's ass before, but I couldn't peel my eyes away from it.

_Turn around. Turn around_, I willed him with my mind. He started to turn, looking over his right shoulder toward the forest. More rustling in the bushes distracted me as I saw a woman emerge, also naked, with the same deep russet skin and long black hair. _Leah_.

My face twisted into a scowl. My family insisted on treating Leah Clearwater like one of us, though she'd never exchanged a friendly word with any Cullen, in my experience. Her demeanor was civil at best, and she rarely spoke to me, choosing instead to glare at me with narrow eyes from across the room.

I'd heard that wolves phased naked, but had never been in the presence of one in the act; my family seemed to think it was natural, though I imagined it would be pretty awkward, especially considering that some wolves were female.

I noticed Jacob had a small bundle taped to his lower leg that he reached down for, before Leah's hand came out to stop him. They were looking at each other, their expressions unfamiliar to me. Leah moved closer as her hand slid up his arm and across his chest. His eyes kept darting around, but he made no move to stop her — in fact, his arms went to her waist, one hand reaching down in back as their mouths met and tangled together for what was _obviously_ not the first time. _What. The. Fuck._

My mouth was hanging open so wide I could have swallowed a deer whole. I felt my face flame with embarrassment, and my stomach churned as if I'd be sick. Meanwhile a queer ache in my chest throbbed. But I couldn't tear my eyes away from their mouths moving wildly, their hands running all over each other. I felt something deeper, a raging anger I'd never felt before. I felt … betrayed — why hadn't they told us? Why had I never seen any sign there was a relationship between them that went beyond friendship? Jacob visited my house nearly every day, yet he spoke of Leah in the same tone as he mentioned the other wolves. He was one of my closest friends, and yet he'd kept this secret from me, from my family? Or was this how adults acted with each other? Were they always getting naked with their so-called friends when they thought no one else was around and touching each other? So many emotions washed over me, some inexplicable. I felt confused, a bit humiliated, yet somehow both disgusted and jealous at the same time.

Jacob and Leah were now rubbing their bodies together while kissing all over each other's faces and necks. It was sort of fascinating, but I felt as pervy as Humbert, the narrator in my book. I wished they would just leave. I closed my eyes and had counted to 100 in Russian when I heard rustling and peeked out. They were finally moving away from the water and back toward the cover of trees, Jacob glancing around wildly, yet never moving his hands from Leah. I shrunk back against the tree trunk and sat perfectly still, as if I could make myself invisible, be assimilated into the tree trunk like a dryad.

When they were finally out of my sight, my eyes teared up. _God, that was so mortifying. Imagine if they'd actually _seen_ me here! _I shuddered at the thought as I slowly climbed down from my tree, careful not to make too much noise — in case Jacob and Leah were still near — and headed home.

✼-✼-✼

I entered a completely silent house. I knew Emmett and Rosalie were around somewhere, but they must've been in one of the upstairs rooms. Jasper and Alice had gone hunting with my mother and father. I marveled at how alone I felt in the big, silent common room that was usually full of my family.

I've been surrounded by people since I was born, and yet, I'm always alone, in a way. Being the only half-human in a family of vampires means all my actions are studied like a specimen under my grandfather Carlisle's microscope. When around my family, all I can feel is my distinct _otherness_, like an alien.

I went into the room Grandpa and Gran had set up for me so that I had my own place at their house. It had once been my dad's room, but Alice and Esme had removed the gold carpet and cold leather furniture, replacing it with warm wood floors, comfy throw rugs, and a daybed with white eyelet coverings. The walls were painted the color of the sky after a storm, and were covered in black and white photographs.

On a small bedside table lay several photo albums. Inside seemingly every moment of my life since my birth was documented in Esme's beautiful script. She gave me a new one every year on my birthday, knowing my part-human memory is not as infallible as a vampire's. I fingered the pages of the first book, the pictures of me as a tiny baby, in the arms of Rosalie, her face leaning over me radiant, her eyes bright. My parents, pristine and beautiful, gazing at baby me with love in their eyes that transcended their teen appearance.

Everyone in my world is ageless; they never change. I can guess their ages looking in their eyes, seeing the years of history etched there. With the exception of Grandpa Charlie, they all make me feel like I'm hurtling toward old age on a runaway train. Every day, I change so much. I can feel my cells dividing.

I look at the large mirror leaning against the wall across from my bed. Instead of seeing my reflection, I see an apparition. Like _The Portrait of Dorian Grey_, my face seems to grow more solemn and hollow by the minute, as if by sitting here long enough I would see my face rot away to mere bones.

Staring at my own face, I see very little of my parents in my reflection. My hair is the color of my father's, but the texture is different. I've been told my eyes are the exact same color as my mother's when she was human, but I only remember her eyes the color of warm honey, like the rest of my family. Though I suspect her eyes were at one time blood-red, as I have fleeting remembrances from my early life, in the photo books they are always amber. I wonder if they've been altered to hide the red. I look back at the photo in my lap of my parents leaning over me as a baby.

When I think back to my earliest memories, the first thing I remember is my father — not him holding me, but hearing his voice, feeling his presence over me. The sensation of being underwater, or under many warm blankets. But I knew I was loved. I saw him, the first face I ever saw. I was entranced by his eyes – all I remember are the two bright hazel spots in the middle of milky white as my eyes focused. He put me in my mother's arms… the smell familiar, but something more sinister – splotches of bright red covered her everywhere, tears streamed down her contorted face. She looked at me in love, but also in pain. And I knew, _I_ had caused her pain… somehow even months, years, later I knew one of the first emotions I had ever felt was guilt.

✼-✼-✼

"Knock-knock," came Rosalie's voice from the doorway, interrupting my reverie. I motioned her in, and she sat on the other end of the bed. "What have you been up to all day?"

I flinched a tiny bit, remembering my voyeuristic turn earlier. "Reading," I said too quickly. Rosalie's eyebrow raised by an almost imperceptible margin.

"Reading, huh? And what kind of 'reading' would have you feeling flustered? Your cheeks are a little red, you know," she smirked.

"I … uh, I was in the sun a bit. Maybe I burned." Could I even sunburn? It was so rarely sunny in Forks that I hadn't tested the theory much. I decided a subject change was better before I gave myself completely away, then just decided to go for broke. "Rosalie, have you noticed Jacob and Leah acting … uh, _weird_, lately?"

"Define 'weird'. The wolves are all head cases, in my opinion," she said wryly.

"Um, have you noticed them being … especially … _romantic _with each other?" I said, examining my nail beds in what was intended to be a studious manner.

Rosalie's eyes narrowed, and she cleared her throat, an oddly human — and therefore unnecessary — gesture that let me know she was stalling for time.

"What did you see?" she asked bluntly.

I looked at my toes. "I was in the woods. They didn't know I was there, and I was just sitting, minding my own business, I swear…" Rosalie repeated her question. "They were naked," I blurted.

Her eyes softened infinitesimally. "Is that all?"

"They were kissing and … other stuff," I said, feeling my face redden again. _Ugh, I hate that feeling. _I didn't like to even acknowledge my family's lovey-dovey behavior, but lately, being around them had been nauseating me on a daily basis.

I'd woken up one day earlier this year with breasts. My hand to God, they were not there the day before, and they hurt like hell. Weird stuff was happening between my legs, too. And I'd developed a hypersensitivity to certain … behaviors. It was as if I'd suddenly become aware of all the _love in the fucking air_. Every time I turned a corner in the house, Mom and Dad, Alice and Jazz, even Grandfather and Gran might be there sucking face the way that only people who don't need oxygen can. Ugh. And lately I'd just become … fed up with it. It was kind of disgusting how in-your-face everyone was — not to mention the things I could hear going on behind closed doors. _Ick_.

Rosalie's harsh tone snapped my attention back to our conversation. "What kind of _other stuff?!_" I flinched away instinctively. _She must think I was spying on them. God, I AM a pervert! _I cringed.

Footfalls on the stairs alerted me to the fact that our exchange was no longer private. _Great, now my mortification has an audience_. My parents' faces appeared at the door, as Alice tiptoed in behind them. All appeared concerned.

My dad's stare pierced me, his mind hearing every thought in my head as I worked hard to expunge the images from the woods earlier. In the last few years, I'd been able to channel my thoughts around him so I had some selection over what he heard and saw. A girl needs her privacy sometimes.

"Renesmee, what's going on?" he asked sternly. My eyeballs rolled so far back in my head at his use of my completely ridiculous full name I almost choked on them. Before I could shrug him off my case, Rosalie spoke up.

"Edward, wait until you hear what your daughter saw today," she said, her voice fiery with anger.

He leveled his gaze at me, and I could sense his mind searching mine, so I channeled my thoughts into innocuous little-girl imagery.

"I was reading outside, and I just saw Jacob and Leah acting weird. It was no big deal; I was just surprised." I rushed a little through my explanation, hoping they'd all shrug it off.

"What do you mean, 'weird,' Renesmee?" my mother asked, her girlish, lilting voice making her sound no older than I was. _Shit._

"They were naked and kissing," I spat out, my face crimson as I died of embarrassment. "Can we please stop making a deal out of this? I wasn't spying intentionally."

When I opened my eyes, I was shocked to see the usually serene face of my mother aghast, her mouth a perfect 'O', her eyes wide as saucers. But it was my father's voice that rang in my head first, anger spilling from his lips like molten lava.

"I am going to _kill that vile dog and his whore_," he spat out between clenched teeth. My mother didn't even jump at his vehemence, but continued to look completely shocked.

Rosalie stood up slowly. "Edward, you can't know Leah's motivation. She has had a hard time adapting to her new life. Put yourself in her shoes."

"Wolves don't wear shoes," my dad said passionately, as though the statement justified his anger.

"Jacob is the only one who has done wrong by Renesmee, and by extension, the rest of us," Rosalie replied calmly.

"I don't understand," I whined. "Why should Jacob be more at fault than Leah?"

"Nessie, there are things you can't understand," Alice started.

"Why? Why can't I understand them?" I felt peeved. My own family was treating me like a child, when we appeared to be the same age.

"Renesmee, go to your room so the adults can talk," my father said.

"I'm in my own room!" I cried. "This is so unfair. Why can't someone just tell me what's going on?" I resisted the urge to pull my own hair at the roots out of frustration at their cryptic remarks.

"Edward, she's practically a woman," my Uncle Jasper broke in. He was quieter than the rest of my family, a thoughtful man, and he understood the way I was feeling most of the time and better than anyone else. "One of these days you are going to have to treat her as such."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," my dad sneered. "Besides, what would it help? Would you have her enter into a relationship already knowing her partner had been unfaithful? I thought the rules of imprinting would have prevented this ... issue."

My brain struggled to keep up as he mentioned topics I was unfamiliar with. "What does imprinting mean?" My voice rose nearly an octave as I looked to each of my family imploringly. "Why are you talking bout me being in a relationship? I'm so confused!"

"I will not discuss this with you further, Renesmee. You need to leave the room. Now." My father's voice was hard as steel, and only served as fuel for my anger.

"I will NOT leave the room when I am the one being discussed. This is completely unreasonable! Why can't anyone just be honest with me?!" Dead silence followed my plea.

"Alice…" my dad started quietly.

"Nothing, you know my sight's pretty useless when it comes to Renesmee, and I can't see any of the wolves," Alice shrugged. They stared at each other for a moment.

My dad's eyes darkened. "NO," he said sounding strangled. "This can't be the way it was meant to come out. She's too young."

My chest tightened, and I felt like screaming in frustration. Naturally, when I spoke, I did. "You're talking about _me_ again and I'm _right here_!" My mom put her cold arms around my shoulders.

"Renesmee, there are things you're too young to understand right now," she said, her usually serene, quiet voice trembling as though she were scared. She put her hand on my chin, forcing my eyes to hers. "Trust me, this is for your own good," she coaxed. Her cool hand pulled mine up, laying it against her face. I jerked my hand back as if burned, realizing her true intention: she was taking advantage of my weakness, trying to see into my head, likely wondering what I had witnessed.

She started a bit when I jerked my hand away, but she was not ready when my other hand whipped across her cheek with a tinny snap. Her eyes widened in — was it anger? Or fear, even? I knew I hadn't hurt her, though my hand throbbed like a bitch, but she had gotten the message.

"I guess you don't believe what I said, if you think you need proof, not that I care. But don't you _ever_ try to take advantage of my 'gift' again. And I'm not in a relationship with _anyone_. And even if I were, it's none of anyone's goddamn business!" I seethed as I turned and left the room. I heard my mother gasping for air as I half-ran down the stairs and out the front door. And I didn't feel the least bit guilty.

Once I hit the driveway I started running in earnest, not really caring where I was headed. I rarely left my family's property as the cramped little town could not know too much of my existence. I was mature enough to realize that it was for my protection as much as theirs— they wouldn't be able to understand the hows and whys of my existence any more than I could.

My mind kept replaying my parents' cryptic comments in my head, but I only felt more confused as I pondered them. Particularly my father's words… _Would you have her enter into a relationship already knowing her partner had been unfaithful? _It was as if he believed Jacob and I were involved romantically, when nothing had been further from my mind.

My chest was still tight with anger for several miles, so I slowed down, figuring I should have some destination in mind rather than just running at a cheetah's pace through the Forks town square. The sun was setting as I instinctively cut across some fields, then yards, heading for the one place I knew I was welcome.

✼-✼-✼

Charlie's face was lined and tired as he cracked the door, but his eyes softened when he saw me.

"Nessie," he said, bewildered, no doubt noting my disheveled and winded state. "What are you doing, girl?" He opened the door wider.

"_Not '_Nessie', please," I said, anxious to make this point clear. An annoying childhood nickname, I'd all but forbidden it from conversation, though it lingered like a pesky fly.

"What would you like to be called?" Charlie asked kindly. I threw my arms around his neck and choked back a sob. He went rigid for a moment and softly, awkwardly sort of petted my hair and made a strange noise like he was clearing his throat. "Come on in," he said simply.

After I sat at the kitchen table, he fed me a grilled cheese sandwich and a glass of milk — which I'd only had twice before and had always seemed like the strangest, least appetizing beverage ever. But I drank it to placate him after he mumbled something about my being a "growing girl" under his breath.

"Do you want to talk about it? Why you're here?" he asked. "Do you want me to call your mom?"

"_No_," I said hastily. "I just needed to think about some things. Everyone was acting so weird today and talking over my head, and I just had to get away."

"Did you come here by yourself?" he asked, his eyes widening.

"Yes, I walked," I said, looking down guiltily. A faint line appeared between Charlie's brows that told me he was biting back words, probably about how I was too young to be out alone or that my parents were worried. I continued, hoping to distract him: "There was just some weirdness with Jacob, and Dad's really mad at him, but he wouldn't tell me why."

Charlie's voice vibrated a low hum as he absorbed my words. "Well, your dad and Jacob have not always gotten on so well." That was news to me; while they sparred back and forth verbally often, they were usually pretty chummy. "But I know Jacob is very protective of you, has been since you were born. Everyone loves you so much, Mae," he said, and it did not escape my notice that he used the name I preferred.

"I know," I conceded, inwardly refusing to allow guilt to overtake me. I met his eyes, feeling tortured.

"I was about to turn in," he said softly, and my teeth worried my lower lip, knowing I wasn't ready to head home yet. "Did you want to go up to your mother's old room?"

My eyes shot up to his in surprise. I felt exhausted both emotionally and physically. I tried my best to smile. "Thanks, that would be great."

✼-✼-✼

I'd really only seen my mom's old room once before, when we came for dinner, but I hadn't paid much attention and it had been a year or so ago. Charlie had given me clean sheets to go under the dark purple coverlet. After dressing the bed, I sat down on the wood floor looking at the dusty pictures on the nightstand. One of my mom about my size, with a woman I didn't recognize but who looked faintly familiar. One of her and my dad wearing graduation caps and gowns. I absentmindedly opened the nightstand drawer and grabbed some loose photos and a folded, splotched piece of loose-leaf.

The two photos were of my mom and Jacob, which seemed odd, and looked to have been taken out at the beaches past the reservation. I wondered who'd taken them. In fact, I'd seen very few photos of my mom when she was human. Human Bella had been very plain, she'd told me, and awkwardly clumsy. Other than the wedding portrait on Esme's mantle, she kept no mementos of her life before immortality.

In the first photo, Jacob had his arm around her as they smiled at the camera. The carefree look in my mom's eyes stunned me, and it took me a moment to realize why: I was looking at my own eyes, the irises not pale amber and immortal, but chocolate brown and warm. I almost gasped out loud at the familiarity.

The second photo looked … different, and I knew it must have been taken later, as Jacob's hair was much longer. My mother was very pale and gaunt, her eyes hollow and almost despondent, older. She was looking not at the camera, but at Jacob, her arms crossed over her chest as he looked back at her with a hand on her shoulder. His expression stopped me in my tracks—it was the same one I'd seen him wear whenever I felt troubled, or had bruised myself jumping out of a tree, or cried because I felt lonely because I had no friends. I felt the same sort of twinge in my chest that I'd felt seeing him with Leah.

I unfolded the paper I'd found with the photos. Ink stains dotted the paper, and several lines were scrubbed out. It read

_Bella,_

_Yeah, I miss you, too. A lot._

_Doesn't change anything. Sorry._

_Jacob_

_What the fuck is _that? I wondered. I tried to read through the scrubbed out lines for more information; the last read: _It just makes it worse when I think about you too much, so don't write anymore. _

I looked back at the photos, my chest throbbing away with the sharp ache and realized, Jacob's eyes held the same emotions they had with Leah in the forest, earlier. _Lust_, my instincts said. _Eww_.

My mind went back to my dad's strange comment. _I thought the rules of imprinting would have prevented this. _What was imprinting? And why did he act like I had something to do with Jacob's personal life? I'd only read about imprinting in the sense of baby animals attaching themselves to their parents. So was Jacob attached to me, or I to him? The attachment certainly didn't feel parental.

My stomach turned as I wondered if Jacob was somehow attracted to me because I resembled a younger, unattached version of my mother. Had he had feelings for her? Before I'd seen the photo I would have said no way in hell, but his eyes said something different. Was I my mother's replacement? Did this make him some sort of sick pervert? I clutched my stomach as I felt sweat break out along my forehead.

Minutes later, I was kneeling on the bathroom floor, having rid my anxious stomach of Charlie's comfort food, when I realized I'd gone from feeling like Nabokov's Humbert Humbert to Lolita in a matter of eight hours.

I puzzled at the peculiar twinge in my chest. I'd never considered my life without Jacob before, and I didn't like considering it now. I thought of him as _my _Jacob; even if I didn't want him, I didn't want anyone else to want him, either. I wondered if he somehow felt the same. I realized I was considering physical attraction to a man who'd lived four times as long as I had and who seemingly had once desired my mother. The idea seemed absurd, as I'd never even tried to be remotely provocative. I stumbled back to the bedroom, laughing almost drunkenly at my conundrum, and fell facedown on the mattress as my laughter gave way to frustrated sobs.

Several hours later, I woke up a sweaty, tear-stained mess, tangled in the sheets. But while sleep had brought me clarity, it had not quelled my anger.

And I knew exactly what I would do.

✼-✼-✼

I ran the short way west to LaPush from Charlie's, skirting the Quillayute River, cutting across the logged fields, my hair flying out behind me. I'd rarely run so fast, and I nearly laughed aloud from the adrenaline coursing through me.

Entering Quileute territory was not exactly allowed. Vampires could not set foot on the reservation without a written invitation from the tribal chief, which had to be approved with a vote by the tribe elders. I'd only been on Quileute land once before, but I knew exactly where the little blue house lay, just north of the river past the school.

Once at the door, I hesitated. But I had to know. I raised my hand and knocked timidly three times.

"You're quieter than—" The door flew open and Jacob was in front of me, clad only in a pair of jeans, his long hair tied back in a ponytail. His words died in his throat as he saw me, my hair likely wild from the run, my cheeks blazing. "Ness…" he choked out, almost to himself.

"I need to talk to you," I said. He never broke eye contact as he stepped to the side and motioned me in wordlessly. I walked straight through to the tiny kitchen and turned away from him, wringing my hands a little.

"Sit down?" He motioned to one of the kitchen chairs and took the other.

"I'd rather stand," I said, fearful my nerves would betray me.

"You're not supposed to be here, Ness," he said guardedly.

I looked him square in the eye. "You don't want me to be here?"

"It's not that at all. It's complicated… The treaty between your family and mine is almost 100 years old. I am not the only one who makes the rules."

"Have you spoken to my parents?"

"I was … out most of the night. Bella left me a message to call her when I got home, but I just heard it," he explained. I examined his face as he spoke of my mother. I saw no emotion there, heard no change in his voice. In truth, his face bore very little resemblance to the teen boy in the picture. This Jacob was worried, his forehead set with lines and his posture tense. I walked over and stood directly in front of him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He tensed minutely, then calmed.

Pretending I knew exactly what I was doing and ignoring the fact that we both knew I didn't, I lowered myself onto his lap, a leg on each side. My toes barely brushed the floor, hanging from his lanky frame. I straightened my back the way Alice was always telling me, very aware of my new breasts in proximity to his bare chest. My muscles twitched involuntarily. Slowly, as slowly as I possibly could manage, I brought my hand up to his face and pushed the lock of hair that had escaped from his ponytail back off his face.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of brown skin and familiar long black hair outside. She was walking up the drive with a purpose. _Perfect_.

"Jacob," I let his name drip from my tongue like honey, drawing it out. "I can't hide what I feel for you anymore."

I captured his eyes with mine, steeling my gaze as his widened in shock and … was that a little bit of fear? I felt him tensing under me. I knew I only had a minute.

"I _want_ you," I said, keeping my voice low, never breaking his gaze.

His arms began to move up, and I knew he would push me off of his lap, distance himself from me. Quickly I put my lips a hair's breadth from his, breathing in his breath and smell and essence, all woods and sweat and earth. I was shocked at the pang of true desire that I felt shudder through me, and for a millisecond, I almost lost myself to it.

Recovering, I closed my eyes and softly pressed my barely open lips to his, running the tip of my tongue against the little divot between his. I had seen Jasper do this to Alice when they didn't realize I was paying attention.

Jacob's eyes were screwed shut. His lips parted in a shaky, tortured sigh, and I was shocked when I felt his own tongue caress mine. I don't know what I was expecting — a shocking taste, coldness like the kisses of my parents on my cheeks. Instead I felt heat radiating from him, not so much a taste as the flavor of his scent, and the feel — the feeling was everywhere on my body at once, as though that single physical connection sparked a thousand others in my fingertips, the soft skin between my hip bones, the backs of my knees. Simultaneously, instinctively, we twisted our heads in opposite directions, our lips and tongues still moving together. I felt something pulling at the nape of my neck and realized his hands were in my hair somewhere below my shoulder blades, snarling, pulling the curls with intensity. Instead of annoying me, the tugging felt good, like being stroked to sleep by my mother, but different; I felt it lower.

I ran my hands down his chest feeling every ridge and ripple; his skin felt like the softest tanned leather, and it pebbled under my touch. Pressing myself harder into him caused sensations I'd never felt before, a tightness in my muscles that complemented the now-familiar throbbing in my chest as he pulled harder on my hair. I heard a moan, followed by a gasp, and realized that the former had come from my own mouth.

His hands stilled in my hair, and I opened my eyes to see him staring over my shoulder. The corners of my mouth twitched into a smirk as I turned my head and saw Leah standing there agape. Her normally russet skin was ashen, her eyes wide, but there was no shock in them, only resigned hatred. I knew then, somehow—it was as if I had always known. Jacob was mine, no matter what she'd tried with him. No matter if I wanted him or not. He was mine.

I got up quickly and willed my legs to walk to the back door, leaving them there.

Outside I stumbled around the side of the house once out of their sight. The weight of my behavior caught up with me, and I heaved into the bushes until only bile came out. When my eyes refocused, I stared wearily at the rosebush I'd just spewed into. A single dark pink bloom flourished in a sea of white tea roses. I stared at the dark bloom among the pure ones, wondering what had caused the aberration.

The screen door slamming distracted me as I saw Leah's backside retreating towards the reservation at full speed. When she was out of sight I heard the sound of her phasing. My eyes flitted back to the doorway, where Jacob stood, his eyes locked not on her retreat, but on my face.

I stared at him hard, seeing a bevy of emotions flit across his face: shock, panic, contrition, and something else indefinable… not lust. Not even attraction. The look pierced my heart as though a grappling hook had shot out and a steel cable was drawing us together, anchoring us permanently. The emotion terrified me.

Feeling my breath catch in my chest, I tore my eyes away and took off like a shot towards the south.

I didn't stop for days.

✼-✼-✼

**A/N: Thanks to lovely ladies Philadelphic, Adoraklutz, and Becca Graymoor for support and beta love!!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Darkbloom **

**Chapter 2: Running**

**A/N: Thank you so much to all who read, reviewed, and voted in the Les Femmes Noires contest. I was honored to receive the Cherry Popper Judges Award for first-ever fanfic. I appreciate anyone who's willing to put up with my neuroses with no promises of smut. ;) I hope you enjoy the continuation! Also, thank you to all my UU girls for being my bra, to my ficwife Feisty Y. Beden, to my DG Adoraklutz, and to Philadelphic, who always encourages me. ^_^**

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns. Also, my chapters are short (for now).**

**&.&.&  
**

_I stared at him hard, seeing a bevy of emotions flit across his face: shock, panic, contrition, and something else indefinable … not lust. Not even attraction. The look pierced my heart as though a grappling hook had shot out and a steel cable was drawing us together, anchoring us permanently. The emotion terrified me. _

_Feeling my breath catch in my chest, I tore my eyes away and took off like a shot towards the south._

_I didn't stop for days._

**&.&.&**

I heard him call out as I ran, but his words fell in the air behind me, and I paid them no mind. At first, I ran a crazy path to the south, only taking care to avoid roads, cities — anything that might put me in contact with humans.

I never feel completely right around them — humans. Besides Charlie, who never asks questions and who is as quiet as a vampire except for his vital signs, I've been around few humans in my short life. Once, my mother and father had taken me to a movie. They said it was something they'd been meaning to do, and my mother said it was something everyone should experience at some point. She'd winked at my dad, muttering something about "better late than never"…

On a rainy afternoon, we'd gone to the earliest show at the tiny theater in Port Angeles. We were the only ones there. Quickly bored by the slow-moving actors and distracted by the flickering of the screen and visible dust mites on the reel, I'd spent the entire time replaying our interaction with the ticket-taker. A skinny girl with red, splotchy skin, she'd gawked at my parents and at me — mostly at my dad, who appeared not to notice. She looked at our tickets, then at us, then back at our tickets, her eyes shifting back and forth at what felt like a monotonous pace. I'm sure my impatience must've showed, as my father's hand squeezed mine, a warning to be good.

"Oh, you need an adult ticket, too," she said to me in an exaggerated whisper, and I was distracted by the metal bands around her teeth, which forced tiny drops of spittle out as she talked. Her cheeks burned so red that my mouth watered thinking about her blood underneath, though I'd never tasted human blood from the source. The idea was both appealing and disgusting, given her unwashed state.

"Why?" my mother asked, clearly confused, as my dad stepped in front of us reaching for his wallet.

"Oh, but I won't tell anybody, no worries," she grinned moonily at my dad, who made the annoyed face he reserved for when Jacob was visiting. "You three have a great time," she spat animatedly. He hazarded a small smile, mumbling thanks, and we continued into the theater.

"What was that about?" my mother asked when she was out of earshot. Dad's mouth moved for a second without any sound coming out as though he was picking the right words.

"She was confused, as she thinks we're high-schoolers, going to the movies. She thinks Renesmee is, uh … a dwarf, to put it delicately."

"_What_?" my mother snapped, but my father laughed.

"She's perfectly formed," he said. "She might be the size of an 8-year-old, but she carries herself well, and her eyes betray her age. Can you blame her?" My mother made no answer except for the snarling growl that emanated from her chest. Dad just chuckled and kissed her head and mumbled some nonsense about "mama bears" not being allowed to tackle teenagers.

**&.&.&**

As I ran through the first forests I didn't recognize, I thought back to the last human I encountered who wasn't Charlie… _Emily Uley_, I realized. While connected to the wolves, she was as human as my grandfather. Jacob had taken me onto the reservation about a month ago. I'm not often invited as my presence in La Push seems to upset some of the elders, who are skittish about my family. I don't know why, as we never hunt on their land and rarely interact with any Quileutes unless they come to our home.

Standing in Sam and Emily's cramped kitchen while she baked chocolate chip cookies, I'd pressed my hand to her belly, swollen and round, a life growing inside of it. My mother had told me Emily would soon have a baby.

"Will it be a wolf, or a human? Or something like me?" I'd asked Mother later.

"Well, if it is a girl, she will be human, like Emily. If it is a boy, he will be a wolf, like Sam."

"Will the baby be my friend, when it gets older, I mean?" I was afraid to say what I really meant — that I felt so lonely without anyone like me, anyone around my age at all, who also had "exceptional abilities," as my Grandma Esme called them. I knew the truth: I was something stronger than a human, but weaker than a vampire. In my mind it only made me a freak who didn't fit anywhere.

I had asked my mother for some details on the birth process, trying to fill in blanks of what I'd read in books.

"So, babies grow inside their mothers for months, and then they come out?" I felt very young questioning her about something everyone already knew. It was frustrating. "Was I born that way?"

"Yes," my mother replied with a dash of hesitation in her voice. "Though, you took a bit less time, and your birth was very … unconventional. I'll tell you about it sometime," she'd said, and had changed the subject, asking me who else had been at Emily's.

"Jacob was there, but he didn't say anything the whole time. Leah came over, but she left in a hurry." I remembered Leah's glare flickering toward me as she'd come to find Jacob. The way she'd marched straight up to him and gestured for the two of them to go outside, like she had something important to discuss with him that I couldn't hear. At the time I'd been annoyed. Now I wondered if they'd been … together — or whatever they were — then. The thought sickened me.

**&.&.&**

"Why does Leah hate me?" I had asked Emily. She smiled down at me, her scars pulling the right side of her face taut as our hands formed the dough into neat little balls, placing them onto the cookie sheet.

"Try not to take Leah's manner personally," she said quietly. "She's unhappy with her life, and sometimes the anger oozes out onto whoever is near."

"Even onto you?" I had a hard time imagining anyone acting hateful towards kind-hearted Emily. She laughed one hard, staccato sound.

"Yes."

"Why is she so unhappy?" I had wondered. "She has all the wolves to keep her company and be her friends and brothers."

"Can I trust you to keep some things I tell you just between us?" Emily asked. I nodded, keeping my face serious so she would speak freely.

"When wolves change, their bodies freeze — sort of like your parents'. Do you know what that means?" she asked.

"They don't get any older?"

"Yes, until they transition back to being all-human, which is not always their own choice," she explained. "Leah didn't want to change, didn't want to freeze. I think deep down, she's afraid that there are things she wanted in her life that she may never have, because of who she is: the only female wolf in a large pack. She might even be afraid there are things she doesn't know that she wants yet." She paused, furrowing her brow at me. "Am I confusing you?"

I understood completely: Leah, the only one of her kind, felt like a freak. I certainly could relate. But it didn't explain why she acted so nasty all the time, particularly to me.

Emily's head wrinkled further when I shared this, as though she were carefully thinking through her answer.

"Maybe, she doesn't understand how alike you two really are," she said slowly. I frowned. I didn't want to be like Leah, who made everyone miserable. _Everyone except Jacob_, _apparently_, I reminded myself, wishing I could forget the way they looked together.

"At least she has the wolves, who sort of understand her. What more could she want?" I asked, feeling particularly vindictive.

"Maybe she thinks _you_ have things that she wants, or _will_ have things that she cannot," Emily had said in her minimal way, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear deftly with her fourth finger, which had not been in the cookie dough.

"Like Aunt Rosalie," I'd said. Emily had shrugged one shoulder and given me a half-smile.

The truth is, even I didn't know exactly what I was talking about. I'd heard my mother and Alice talking about Rosalie, saying she'd resented my mom for having things she could not, and that I had somehow brought them closer — the language Emily used had reminded me of the overheard words. They made Rosalie sound possessive and demanding, which shocked me. I'd never seen a sign of the jealousy or contempt that radiated off Leah onto everyone around her. Rose was fierce and protective over our entire family. She had always treated me like her own daughter, making sure I was fed and clothed and tucked into my bed at night whether my mother was there or not.

Her touches lingered on my hair and forehead when she'd sat with me when I was younger, still scared to sleep at night. I'd hated the feeling that I was missing half my life, that there was a whole side to my parents' lives that I wasn't around for, and that maybe nobody wanted me around during those times. I had fought sleep, pushing myself at activities and playtime until I could barely prop open my eyelids. Rosalie would come into my room, picking me up and changing me into my nightgown, then sit by me until I fell asleep.

I remembered Rosalie's anger for me, with me, at Jacob and Leah. The way she shouted and stormed rivaled my father's reaction. She'd seemed angrier than my own mother; that was where they differed: where my mother was stoic, impassive, Rosalie wore her heart on her sleeve. I admired her for it, wishing I could express myself half as well.

**&.&.&**

I'd been running for two days, from what I could tell, stopping only to rest periodically and a couple of times for what my mother called "a human moment." I hated the term, as I did anything that called attention to my alien nature. It was humiliating. I felt more comfortable peeing in the woods, my back braced against a tree trunk, than I did at home knowing every vampire in the vicinity could hear me.

By the time the sun was rising for the second time since I'd left La Push, my midsection was throbbing so hard I wanted to curl up on the forest floor. I'd never felt such pain before, not only cramping, but the hollow gnawing, like something was eating away inside me. _Eating_… I thought.

I paused, listening intently to the wood noises — birds chirping, insects buzzing, small rodents scampering, leaves rustling… I started to walk a zigzag pattern further into the woods. I knew what to listen for, what to look for, but what I wanted eluded me.

When I passed a knobby pine that stood tall above the other trees, I scaled it carefully, ignoring the ache in my belly. Once I was high enough, I saw what I'd been after: a stream gurgling in the distance.

By the time I reached the clear water, spots were dancing in front of my eyes, and my head felt fuzzy. I lay down on my belly and scooped the water into my mouth hastily, giving thanks that it was clean and not foul-tasting. I rarely drank water — only a little that Carlisle made sure I had in the mornings every other day or so — and I hadn't realized my body's dependence on it.

I stayed there resting in the cool shade for what felt like hours, drinking as much as I could. After a while the spots in my vision cleared and the hazy feeling left me, but the gnawing remained. I heaved a deep breath, absorbing all the smells surrounding me in the forest. As one smell wafted from the east, my head snapped in that direction. _Deer… _And I realized, I was starving.

**&.&.&**

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading and for the reviews. I cherish every one! More is coming very soon... ^_^**


	3. Chapter 3

**Darkbloom chapter 3: The Hunt**  
**A/N: So many thanks to my readers and especially to those who took the time to review **—** your encouragement helps my neuroses stay under control when writing. ... And I just realized this is the second A/N in a row where I've addressed my neuroses. Yep, definitely crazy. ^_^**

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns. And apparently my chapters are still short.**

**&.&.&**

Hunting on my own was a very different experience than hunting with my parents.

I ran lightly as I'd seen my parents do, carefully avoiding any crunchy leaves or twigs and breathing only through my nose — slow, steady pulls that drew me toward the scent and helped my limbs move fluidly. I still felt a bit unnatural, hunting alone. I missed the camaraderie, and the silent competition — though I'd always been too weak to truly hold my own against the rest.

When I was close enough to hear the thrumming of deer hearts, I waited for a breeze to shake the nearby leaves enough to cover the noise as I scaled a large tree. On land, I wasn't as fast as a vampire, or a deer. And my hair would surely only alert them to my presence faster, waving behind me like an auburn banner. But I could climb faster than I could run.

I scampered out onto a branch where they were finally in my sight: at least three does and one fawn nibbling some sweet plants growing low to the ground. My heart was thundering in my chest from nerves or hunger or both, and my tastebuds pricked sharply. I held my breath, crept out until I was directly over the one that seemed most engrossed in its snack, and silently launched myself out of the tree while trying to hold the posture my mother did when she would attack predators twice her size.

Midway through the air, something went horribly wrong, as the deer all looked up in the same millisecond — and I realized my stupid head was eclipsing the sunlight, casting them in shadow. They scattered in three directions instinctively, the fawn keeping close to one doe. All of this transpired in the second it took me to fall to the earth and land — hard — on my stomach in the patch of clover.

_FUCK, that hurt._

Once I recovered my breath, I rolled over carefully, groaning and checking for broken bones. Everything seemed to be in its right place, though every bone felt like it was vibrating in its socket.

I didn't get injured often, but I'd had a lot of close calls. While I was graceful enough to climb trees and skip over rocks to get across a stream, it was possible to pierce my skin, and I'd gotten quite a few bruises jumping among the rocks and trees around our house. Usually, I was trying to keep up with some member of my family when they forgot to match my speed or lost themselves to the hunt. Though I knew it wasn't intentional, it stung my ego that there was no way I could keep up physically.

My favorite times were when Jacob joined our hunting party, when he was in his wolf form. He would trot over to me and nudge my shoulder, and it was hard not to laugh because somehow, his posture and mannerisms, while lupine, were so characteristically _Jacob_ — the way he lowered his head to look me in the eyes, how his back moved when he walked … it fascinated me every time. When he came hunting, I was allowed to ride on his back, and then — _finally_ — I felt like an equal part of the group. I could feel my family members running with abandon, not holding back, and Jacob, holding the line with them as they covered miles and miles of territory up into the green mountains.

When I was hurt, my grandfather Carlisle would check me over when he arrived home. His cold hands would tickle the spot where I'd fallen as he checked for lumps or swelling. Then he'd poke me in the bellybutton and pronounce me "the healthiest half-vampire, half-human girl" he'd "ever had the privilege to examine." Lately I'd begun rolling my eyes and repeating it aloud with him.

Only once had he not made his usual declaration. It was two years previous. I'd been out with Jacob near the reservation. I'd chosen a tall tree, daring him to climb it with me, because as nimble as he was on the ground, I thought I could tell he was a little afraid of heights. He always stuck so close to me when we were near a large drop. Not wanting to be outdone, he'd followed me up the lower branches. The sounds of our climb had masked the sound of the wolf phasing. Collin.

It wasn't intentional — he'd been in the woods near his house and smelled vampire blood. The change took over; not many wolves had as much self-control as Jacob or Seth. I heard a low growl, saw a blur of motion in the corner of my eye, and fell for what felt like minutes, until I hit the rocky ground hard, flat on my back, the wind knocked out of me.

Time went all funny then — I remember with clarity seeing the leaves rustle on the branches, the sunlight streaming through, but I heard nothing. After what was likely only a few seconds, I gasped air back into my lungs. Then I heard the struggle.

Turning my head, I saw Jacob — my wolf Jacob — standing over Collin. The smaller wolf's muzzle was pressed into the dirt, his body quivering as Jacob's upper body pinned him. If I hadn't seen Jacob's face, I might've thought they were playing; but his eyes bulged, and saliva dripped from his bared teeth as he snarled. When Collin's hind legs scraped against the ground looking for traction, Jacob's snarls grew louder. I was scared for both of them. I didn't want to watch; I couldn't turn away.

When Collin grew very still and stopped shaking, Jacob gradually eased off. Collin stayed in the submissive position, and Jacob gingerly took a step back, his growl fading to a low rumble. I saw Collin phase back, heard the rustling and bristling sound I'd missed a few moments before. Even after he was fully human, he remained kneeling, and Jacob phased as well. I was shocked to see he was a dirty, scrawny boy who didn't look much older than me. Both of them immediately started yelling.

"What the hell were you thinking, attacking like a predator?" Jacob's voice was low and rough, his eyes flashing. "You could've hurt her!"

"_You! _You bring a bloodsucker onto my property without so much as a warning to me?" Colin's voice matched Jacob's in fury.

"She's not a bloodsucker!" was Jacob's response, but his voice didn't hold the authority it had previously. I felt ashamed watching two naked men having a shouting match while lying dumbly on my back.

"I- I'm okay," I stuttered, my voice coming out gravelly and unnaturally high. "I'm sorry." I should have known not to trespass — I knew that the amity between my parents and Jacob's pack did not extend to every wolf in La Push. Lots of them advocated the old ways, boundary lines and distrust. Both men froze, then mumbled apologies and made amends.

Jacob had suddenly seemed hyper-aware of my presence, shuffling a few feet to the side so he was mostly obscured by a large rhododendron bush. He sheepishly asked Colin for some clothes, since his had been shredded when he'd phased.

Once the two were dressed, Jacob picked me up gingerly and carried me back to his house. I don't remember it being painful, but my dad said later maybe the adrenaline pumping through my system had numbed me. When Jacob put me in the front seat of his car to drive me home, though, every pothole and curve in the road jarred my bones and made my sides ache furiously.

At some point in the drive, I noticed my dad running alongside the car, under the cover of the woods.

"He was worried about you," Jacob said, never taking his eyes off the road. When we reached the turnoff for my house, everyone was standing in the drive and followed us up to the garage. I started to feel very nervous, thinking my injuries were maybe more severe than I could feel. Jacob put his hand on my knee, and the warmth spread upward, comforting me.

"They only knew you'd been hurt, and wanted to make sure you were conscious. They were all worried about you, but you're going to be okay. Don't worry, Mae," he said as he cut the engine. His voice was low and tender, and I closed my eyes, focusing on the warm spot on my knee where his hand was.

My dad flung open the car door and removed me swiftly and smoothly.

"I'm going to be okay." I echoed Jacob's words to him, my voice less sure. His face was wild, his hair knotted and twisted as though he'd been yanking it with his hands.

This time, Carlisle's mouth was set in a thin line as he examined me wordlessly. He pronounced I had bruised ribs and some minor cuts and bumps, but insisted I should stay in bed for two days, which felt like punishment.

I spent the weekend reading _Anna Karenina _and imagining myself in a fur hat, speeding across Russia on a fast train. The left side of my body blossomed into brilliant purples and greys, and then greens for a week after. Jacob came every day, and brought a disgusting concoction from the reservation, some blend of crushed-up herbs in hot water that made a sort of sludge I was to drink. It was vile, but it helped the pain for a short time. He'd hardly left my side for five days, bringing me little things from his time away: a bright blue wildflower, a pebble smooth and perfect from the stream, a large waxen green leaf.

That was the last time I was allowed to come onto the reservation without prior approval from one of the elders.

**&.&.&**

After peeling myself off the ground and stumbling around attempting to shake off the dizziness from my fall, I sniffed the air again to try and find the deer — or something better.

My senses were not as developed as my family's. While they were able to process different layers of scent, categorize them, and pinpoint their relative distances, my nose was … moderate. I could stand rooted in one spot and sniff the air carefully to find what I was looking for within a certain radius — far diminutive to my parents' — but the weather had to cooperate.

Thankfully the wind was low, and no nearby plants were overpowering; I smelled the hot, musky essence in the west. My mouth watered again, and I thought I might drool. I kept a safe distance, staying yards away in the deep blue late afternoon shadows.

_Preempt the deer's thinking_, Alice's voice said in my head. I tried to remember her instruction. _Follow your natural instinct; don't try to think about what the deer will do. Don't think — just act._

I ran noiselessly out of the shadows towards the doe on the fringe of the group, my hand curled by my head, ready to attack. This time I just sprang towards the slowest ones I'd observed before – the doe and fawn. I saw the doe's ear twitch toward me in the split-second I hung in the air; instinctively, I pounced on the fawn as its mother scampered away. I was so distracted by the image of the mother deer darting away to save herself, I barely registered that I held the small one in my grip. My hands clamped rigidly around its neck, cutting off its air supply as I pushed its head up. _Yes! _I knew this; it was second nature to me. My other hand held down the deer's haunch, incapacitating it as its legs kicked and pushed against the dirt. My thoughts flitted again to Collin, the wolf who had attacked me, and a rush of adrenaline shot through me as I realized I mimicked Jacob's posture, crouched dominant over the smaller animal.

Without preamble I sank my teeth into the deer's neck, waiting for the reassuring gush of warm, sticky liquid. Nothing. I drew my head back and repeated the motion, biting down as hard as I could until my jaw went numb. A tiny trickle of blood oozed from the wound, and I applied my mouth to it, but it felt like trying to get water from a stone. The more I tried, the less blood came out, until I could only guess the wound had closed up.

I screamed in frustration at the sky. _Of course I can't even kill a baby deer on my own. I'm the only fucking person in existence who could starve to death holding food in her hands! _I gritted my teeth and tried to think, tried to ignore the pulse beneath my hands. _I need my parents. I need Jacob. I need longer fingernails. I need a knife. _

Panicking, I dug my knee into the animal's haunch, though now its legs had almost stopped moving. I tried not to look at the deer's eyes, bugging out as I searched the ground around me for something — anything — sharp. Finally, I found a shard of rock nature had chiseled into a jagged point. Holding it like a dagger, I stabbed as hard as I could into the pulse point of the deer. At first, I thought my efforts had been fruitless, until I removed the stone and saw a small amount of blood seeping from the wound.

And finally, I drank until I was satiated, the warm, salty liquid comforting the gnawing in my stomach and calming my erratic heart.

**&.&.&**

After I'd buried the drained deer carcass, I crawled up a large sequoia with neighboring trees to shelter me from the wind. The branches were large, the red bark soft against my body. The moon was rising, a huge white orb through the treetops, and it made me wish for the first time that I was home, seeing it from the safety of my room. But I knew it wasn't me — I wasn't that girl anymore. Even if I turned and ran home at that moment, the house, my bed, would feel alien, like something out of a dream. I wasn't sure where I belonged anymore other than this tree, this forest, and alone. I tried to block from my mind the darting, terrified eyes of the baby deer as I'd slowly crushed the life out of it, and finally, I drifted into a restless, fitful sleep.

**A/N: Thanks ever so much to Philadelphic, Adoraklutz, and Feisty Y. Beden for their huge help and encouragement.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Darkbloom Chapter 4: Bloodshed**  
**A/N: Thank you all so much for your patience. I lost some important notes, so this chapter took me a while to rebuild from scratch. I have a lot of the next two chapters in the bag, so I hope to get on a better/quicker posting schedule. Thank you all for reading and taking the time to review! I feel spoiled to have such thoughtful readers.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine! Not mine! Not mine!**

**&.&.&**

I dreamed that night, for the first time since leaving home, in my usual fashion – a flood of memories, images, emotions, and colors in a jumbled array. Sometimes my dreams were faint recollections of what I'd done that day, but from time to time I would have narrative accounts of one or more people in my life, a collage of memories thrown together in no particular order.

This night, the latter occurred. No doubt aided by my finally satiated hunger, I first had vivid nightmares of killing the baby deer over and over, its eyes boring into me as I took its life. Twice I woke up sweating and stiff, and I wished for my bed with its soft, white cotton coverlet and level mattress rather than the moist redwood branches that supported my back and legs as I lay high up, under the stars.

The third time sleep took me, I finally managed a few blissful hours. My mind invented warmth, and a familiar earthy smell, all moss and wolfiness, but no picture appeared. There was only darkness, and his presence all around me, the warmth wrapping me up and soothing me. My mind felt lucid, on the cusp of wakefulness, and I tried to cling to the haze of oblivion, where I could feel him.

When I woke, I felt a twinge of despair and loneliness for the first time since leaving home. I gritted my teeth until tears filled my eyes traitorously. I loathed crying. Like it wasn't bad enough every emotion showed on my face, and my father could hear the thoughts flitting in my head, and my uncle Jasper could feel the hormones racing through my bloodstream. To add insult to injury, my fucking eyes would turn on me, too, unleashing a torrent, just in case somebody hadn't read all the signals already provided.

I remembered the wolfy comforts in my dream, and I missed Jacob, much to my chagrin. He had always been there, like my shadow. I could even recall him in some of my very first memories, protecting me alongside my parents from vampires who sought to harm us.

My memories of those days were hazy. While I had retained some vivid images from that first year of life, the days when all of the vampires journeyed to see us were clouded by all the emotions running high in my family; I remembered my father, conflicted, protective, and irritable. My mother seemed quiet, even more than her normal reticence. I don't remember my aunts and uncles being around often.

But Jacob was constant, his easy nature calming everyone around him much like Jasper. In those days, which felt like an age ago, I remembered feeling panic, unfamiliar, cold as ice. But Jacob comforted me, always by my side. I felt a pang as I remembered him taking me along on errands or visits so many times when I was getting cabin fever cooped up with the Addams Family all day. My favorite place to visit was Emily's house; she was so quiet and unassuming, and she never asked me patronizing questions she already thought she knew the answer to, like my parents. She always called me "Mae." Her kitchen never slept, and she always let me help with whatever treat she was making for Sam and his hungry-like-a-wolf Quileutes. I felt a kinship to her, I guess, because we were both living in the shadow of the ones we love.

I hated myself for missing Jacob. Each time I thought of him, something in my chest tightened painfully, and each time, I would remind myself of his … betrayal? … with Leah, and my anger boiled up to the surface. I wished that he would feel the same pain when he thought about me, gone. I still hadn't been able to figure out why their tryst should hurt me so much, except for Leah's and my mutual dislike and my inexplicable possessive feelings towards him.

I wondered what the hell my family was doing. My inner voice told me my dad probably shit a brick when he realized I was gone. Why hadn't they come to find me yet? They'd never let me wander more than a few miles from home before they checked up on me, and I'd never been alone this long. Besides, Alice had to be letting them know what I was up to… They were probably all having a laugh at my expense and waiting for me to come home with my tail between my legs.

_Maybe they're happier with you gone. Maybe they don't even care that you're gone_, my subconscious piped up, and I scowled while panic curled up from my stomach. I allowed myself to cry for a little, until a wave of self-loathing hit so hard I was compelled to shake it off and drag my pathetic ass out of bed.

**&.&.&**

My belly still ached, sharper than the day before, even though I'd eaten and taken a little more water when I woke up. As I bent to relieve myself under a tree, I saw blood in my panties. _Oh God, my period. _It appeared infrequently, and I could count on one hand the number of times I'd suffered through it. Still, every time, it made my stomach turn. It was like vomit – regurgitated, rancid food mixed with bodily fluids.

Providentially, a search of the ground surrounding me turned up a plant bearing some velvety green leaves. I picked off the cleanest ones, examined them carefully for bugs and dirt, and shoved them in my panties, fuzzy side up. It was kind of revolting, but at least I didn't have to feel like a leper with my family whispering about my human issues behind my back.

This explained the pain in my belly and also the reason I desperately wanted to punch a tree.

I didn't get my period often … or maybe I did. My mom said it was normal to get it every 30 days. I never paid enough attention to track mine, but it felt like it came after months had passed, probably because of my fucked up maturation speed. I had an inkling that Carlisle had been keeping track, though he graciously never said a word about it to me. _Probably every damn person in my life knows when I'm on the rag, vampire or wolf_, I thought bitterly.

The first time I'd had my period, everyone had known _before _I did. In fact, the moment I discovered the mess, my mother walked in with a brand-spanking-new package of maxipads and a rehearsed speech that sounded like she was reading from a commercial script.

_"Getting a menstrual period is something every girl has to deal with. It's not a pleasant part of being a woman, but it shows us that our bodies are healthy," _she said atonally, not meeting my eye.

"How did you…?" I started, but then realized. She'd probably smelled the blood before she was in the room. _Fucking vampire senses. _And Alice had probably tipped everyone off early. You know, so they wouldn't eat me. I wanted to sink into the floor or disappear in a puff of smoke.

"This doesn't happen to you, does it?" I asked, but I already knew the answer.

"Not anymore," she stammered, her voice full of pity. "But I have some memories—"

"I don't really want to hear about your _human memories_," I said angrily. "Obviously no one in this house is going to understand!" I heard my voice getting out of control, so I shut up, but I saw the hurt flash in her eyes momentarily.

"I just … need to get out. I'll be back later," I said, and she made no move to stop me as I walked past her and toward the stairs.

My dad was on the landing, looking tactfully away with that vacant look vampires take when they're pretending like they aren't eavesdropping. Constantly. As I avoided him, he started toward me.

"Renesmee, if you want to talk to Carlisle—" but I silenced him with a wave of my hand. _Talk to my grandfather about my changing body? Precious. Thanks, but no fucking way! _His throat-clearing made me remember too late that he could hear me, so I just walked out of the house with no idea where I was going.

I'd traipsed along the river for several miles in a huff, until I was near the reservation, then decided there was really only one person I could talk to about this. Thankfully, she lived by the river just over the treaty line, so I could sneak across easily enough.

Emily's smile was kind as she opened the front door to me.

"Hi, Mae!" Her surprise quickly faded to concern as she took in my no-doubt frazzled appearance. "Is everything okay?"

"No!" I cried mournfully, wretched tears spilling. I opened my mouth and just let it fly: "_'ssoooooterrible!" _

She'd taken me into her house without another word, put on the kettle, and hugged me. I pulled away a little.

"I'm afraid I'm going to bleed on something," I said, punctuated by sniffles. She walked me to the peach wallpapered bathroom she shared with Sam, reached under the sink, and pulled out some pads from an already open package.

"You can take as many as you want; I have more," she said. "I'm going to brew some tea that will help you feel better." She put her hand on my cheek and said something in Quileute that sounded like it meant "poor thing," and I grabbed her and hugged her hard. She patted my back and reached past me to place some tissues in my hand, and then left, closing the door behind her.

When I emerged, she was sitting at the kitchen table with Sam, and they were drinking tea. I hadn't seen him when I came in, and I instantly wanted to run back into the bathroom just to avoid interaction. Emily met my eye for a second over his shoulder.

"Babe, will you go pick up these things from the store?" She stretched her arm out to grab a magnetic shopping list from the fridge—not much of a stretch since it seemed like everything touched in their tiny kitchen. "I need these top few things for dinner tonight." Sam agreed quietly, rose, and leaned over to kiss the scarred side of her face. I looked down, feeling like I was intruding on a private moment.

"You can take my car; it's out back," Emily said, handing him keys and gesturing behind her at the back door. And he was gone without having even made eye contact with me. She looked back at me and patted the chair next to her wordlessly, the tea steeped and ready in a cup for me.

Emily was magic.

**&.&.&**

No longer sure what I was running away to, but merely content to be alone, my pace had slowed to a stroll. I took time to enjoy my surroundings, listening for the calls of certain birds I'd heard in the woods at home, relishing the feel of the sun beating down on me. At times, I smelled something foreign, but familiar, some type of spicy, pungent flower, and tried to find it in the flora around me. The fact that I couldn't, of course, just reiterated my lack of vampire supernose.

When I was thirsty, I would go towards the greenest trees and find the river again, the water slightly metallic-tasting, but clean. It had widened, with several outcroppings of rock. I caught a bit of my reflection in the still pool as I knelt to drink and started. My hair was a bird's nest, my face smudged and my eyes wild. I snorted back a laugh as I thought what the others would do if they could see me. I probably smelled like a human by now. What I needed was some quality time with a bar of soap.

Now was as good a time as any — the sun was high and the temperature as warm as it was going to get.

I walked along the river's edge, looking for a deep spot. Eventually I came upon a rock formation that formed a small waterfall. I glanced around to make sure I was alone, then felt like an idiot. _Paranoid much?_ _You're in the middle of the woods!_ Pushing aside my irrational thoughts, I quickly peeled off filthy clothes and shoes and placed them on the largest rock, and waded in until I was submerged up to my hips near the rocks. The water was freezing, pebbling my skin and pricking like the touch of a million tiny needles. I suppressed a shudder as I lowered myself in the water and tried to adapt to the frigid temperature. After a few moments, I grabbed my clothes off the rock. I could wash them and set them out to dry in the afternoon sun, or wear them wet. It wasn't like I had any pressing engagements. I let the water soak my pants, socks, and underthings, scrubbing the fabric against itself and against one of the smooth rocks underwater in an attempt to get some of the dirt off. It was a mostly futile attempt, and I squished the childish urge to scream low in frustration. I saved my long-sleeved t-shirt for last, using it as a washcloth to scrub under my arms and in all my creases, then wringing it out and laying it flat to dry.

Rising a bit, I tipped my head back into the cascade of water from the highest rock, letting it run down my dirty face, likely still bloodstained from my encounter with the deer. I tried to comb my fingers through my matted, snarled hair, removing leaves and other bits of detritus as I came upon them. I didn't have anything to use for soap, so I kept working through it with my hands, enjoying the feel of the water running over my breasts and surrounding my lower half, washing away the filth and blood. A breeze blew across the stream, and I shivered.

When I stepped out of the spray, immediately I noticed a difference in my surroundings. Other than the water splashing and tumbling over the rocks, the forest was eerily calm. Suddenly, I felt as though a million eyes were on me. My entire body broke out in icy goosebumps as I struggled to move casually, wringing out my hair, but my limbs were lead-filled, clumsy. I froze as a newly familiar scent hit my nostrils — the same floral perfume as before, only more pungent, almost peppery, and … moving?

I fought warring impulses, finally flattening myself against the tallest rock, feeling too visible, and terrified. My clothes felt too far away, and my half-human heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my ears. I clutched my hands to my chest in a feeble attempt to cover myself.

My own voice shocked me, a squeak that seemed to echo in the dead silence around me. I didn't even know why I had said it — only that something about how the wind had rushed past, the unnaturally spicy scent I smelled, had made me think he might be near:

"_Dad_?"

I heard no answer.

**&.&.&**

**A/N: I promise the next chapter is coming very soon! It's almost there. Thanks so much to Adoraklutz, Feisty Y. Beden, and Philadelphic for their help!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Him**

**Disclaimer: No es mio.**

**A/N: I am so very sorry it's taken me so long to get this chapter out there. No excuses.  
**

_My own voice shocked me, a squeak that seemed to echo in the dead silence around me. I didn't even know why I had said it — only that something about how the wind had rushed past, the unnaturally spicy scent I smelled, had made me think he might be near:_

_"_Dad_?" _

_I heard no answer. _

**&.&.&**

The woods were very still around me. Too still. No sign of wildlife. I felt foolish for calling out. If there was someone—or something—there, it was remaining well hidden. It occurred to me for the first time that some sort of predatory animal could stalk _me_, attack me, and I wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. I shuddered at the thought.

I glanced around quickly for any sign of human, vampire, wolf, or otherwise and found none. Still spooked, I wriggled up onto the rock where my wet clothes lay drying and hurriedly shoved on my panties and shirt. As I reached for my pants, a stick snapped from the tree line. My eyes flew up, and I saw him, half-hidden in the trees, not thirty feet away.

I stayed half-crouched, defensive, watching him.

He was turned slightly to the side, his face turned away, eyes downcast as though he were lost in thought, unaware of my presence. He was preternaturally still and silent, almost as though made of stone. But I knew better. I knew what he was.

My breathing felt noisy, and I tried to keep it low, not moving an inch. I took in his appearance, both foreign and familiar — hair as black as coal, curling over the collar of his jacket … his prominent nose and full lips … his skin, as pale as my family's, though slightly olive-tinted. In profile I could see his eyes were framed by thick eyelashes and sculpted eyebrows. He was beautiful, and he was most certainly a vampire.

I thought it strange neither of us had spoken, though I'd been staring at him curiously for what felt like hours. And he was most certainly aware of me.

"Hello?" I willed my voice not to come out as a squeak, and succeeded marginally. I realized I had no idea what to say next. _Come here often? What's a nice vampire like you doing in woods like these? Do you have a hairbrush I can borrow? _

His eyes flitted to my face quickly and back down for a split second, but I knew as a vampire he'd had plenty of time to study me peripherally.

"Are you lost?" he said in response to me. His voice was low, like the rich hum of a cello, and accented. Though we were several yards apart, it wrapped around me like a blanket, strangely soothing. I straightened slightly.

"No … are you?" I asked, because it seemed like a rational question. _Maybe he lives in these woods? _He didn't seem like a nomad. His clothes were dark and unremarkable, but expensive. I could tell the fabrics were rich — silk and wool, not the cheap synthetics most humans favored that nomad vampires often picked off their victims.

"I'm never lost," he said, a slight smile playing at his lips. He kept his eyes downcast but moved 10 feet closer with easy supernatural speed. Now I could see him properly, his profile at least, and could tell that he was not breathing. That he was also on the defensive made me feel better, marginally. I knew he had been likely watching me in the woods for at least the last couple days, as the spicy scent that clung to him was what I'd smelled several times. I was surprised that it wasn't cloying at such a close distance, but rather made me want to stand closer to him, actually to sniff a line straight up his neck and jawline into his curly hair. Thinking about it made me kind of nervous, like he had to know the thoughts in my mind. I reminded myself my father and Uncle Jasper were unusual in their abilities to get in my head … I fervently hoped this vampire was the garden variety.

"Why are you here?" he asked abruptly, and I was confused by his tone, though I was used to vampires demanding information without hesitation. At least he didn't already know.

"I'm on my own," I said, picking my words carefully. I wanted him to see that I was independent.

"Is that so?" His mouth pulled a little at the corner into a smirk, and I couldn't tell if he didn't believe me or was laughing at my obvious statement. I probably looked pretty disgusting.

He still had yet to look directly at me, seeming to study my legs. I suddenly realized I was wearing very little, and crossed my arms over my chest, feeling the blood rush into my face. He swallowed noisily and in a flash had turned his back to me. I wondered whether to go put on the rest of my clothes or go to him, even kind of waffled physically, leaning first toward my pants back on the rock and then starting toward him. Guh, it probably looked ridiculous. At least his back was turned. I decided he'd already seen as much of me as he could; it was a little late to get dressed for a formal introduction. I went to him, half-expecting him to move away from me in the blink of an eye. He stood, stalwart. I had no idea what to say.

I tentatively placed my hand on his arm. The cold, solid granite feel of his form was familiar to me. He flinched as though an electric shock had passed between us, and pulled further away, his eyes screwed shut, almost as though I'd struck him.

"Are you in pain?" I asked, because his expression reminded me of my uncle Jasper's sometimes — he was very sensitive to blood. His face cleared immediately; I saw the calculated, blank, vampire visage shift into place.

"No." His voice was surprisingly clear, cordial, even. He took my hand in his as he turned to face me, focusing down on our connection. He was not a very tall vampire; had he looked forward we would've been eye to eye. As it was, I was distracted by the bluish highlights the light cast on his glossy, jet-black hair.

"I am Mae," I said by way of introduction.

He twisted our hands into a proper handshake as his eyes finally met mine, and I gasped — they were blood red.

"I know. I am Demetri."

**&.&.&**

Making small talk with a bloodthirsty vampire, it turns out, is not easy. I went for the basics.

"Where are you from?" After he'd met my eyes, I was unable to shake the feeling of familiarity. I knew him, though I could not remember meeting him. I tried to run through all of my meetings with traditional vampires; there weren't many. My family had kept me fairly sheltered for most of my life. The main reason they gave — that vampires in general are not very community-oriented, despite modern folklore, and are very skittish around strangers — was far superseded by the reason they didn't have to say: I had a pulse.

I had no idea what would happen if he bit me. I'd never been bitten by a vampire, despite my unconventional upbringing. Venom had formed me and was in me, but my human heart still beat, and blood ran in my veins.

"Greece, by way of Italy," he said in a conversational tone, while his eyes devoured me. I struggled not to panic as my brain screamed _Volturi! Volturi! _like some kindof siren. Of course he was Volturi. I hadn't seen any in years; in fact, I had been less than a year old the last time. And there had been many. They all formed a blur in my head, except for the one I had touched, who saw inside my head. He terrified me.

**&.&.&**

_We stood in some sort of formation. I had been made to wear sturdy shoes and clothing, a far cry from my usual gauzy dresses and bare feet. I carried a large sack given to me by my mother. There were many more than just our family — some I remembered, like the large dark woman who put visions into my head. Others dance in and out of my memory in flashes: an Irish accent, white-blond hair. _

_In the moment before anyone spoke, I was excited, unreasonably so. I knew there was danger. I'd seen the flurry of activity around our house for weeks. Vampires and wolves came, crowding around me, conducting discussions with my parents in serious tones. Whatever this preparation was, the moment had come to a head. The energy around us felt like a rubber band, stretched to its breaking point, about to snap. I knew, I should feel cautious — I could see the hostility in my parents' eyes. I could feel Jacob trembling beneath me, his fur standing out from his skin. And instead, I wanted to run towards the others as they crossed the snowy field. _

_They all looked alike in my memory, except for the one with the ancient eyes. His face's detail was etched in my brain — the long, stringy dark hair; skin like rice paper with tiny, crisscrossing lines frozen there centuries ago; and his translucent eyes. They glowed crimson like the rest, but past the bloodthirst I saw something piercing, discerning. He looked weary and yet somehow as if he were being driven mad from the inside out. Those eyes would never leave me. _

_I showed him my gift, and he was delighted. But as I touched his face, I felt him intrude, into my own head. I saw a flash of images that I knew he was also seeing, all my fears and wants and failures. I hated him for seeing them, and even as everyone around was remarking and smiling and feeling relieved, I felt hate, for the first time. I hated him. And still, I felt the impulse to put back my hand on his face, to let him intrude again, to be known, to have someone know _me_ through my own eyes._

**&.&.&**

"We have met before." I decided to make as if laying all my cards on the table. Did I see faint surprise in his carefully guarded eyes? "I know your kind, Demetri."

When I said his name, something shifted between us. I read once that a name has power, which came from God naming Adam and giving him dominion over all the earth, and in that moment, I had power over Demetri. I could see it in the way he straightened and turned to face me. He wanted me, and I knew it.

I wanted him, too; my belly ached, my heart pounded, and I felt hot all over. I felt a strange rush down below and remembered a little late that I was not only part-human, but also bleeding. _Shit!_ Though I'd been around my family while menstruating — albeit only as long as it took me to get the hell out of there — I'd never given a second's though about how a conventional vampire might react to it. He turned to me again. His eyes were no longer blood red but fully black, dilated, pupils eclipsing irises. I knew what that look meant; I'd hunted enough with vampires to have seen it. I took a step back involuntarily. _So much for trying not to seem afraid._ I gulped.

"Forgive me, he said, meeting my eyes again, his long eyelashes entrancing me. He spoke slowly, his voice low and husky. "I cannot help myself. You confound my senses, like a delicious torture," he nearly hissed, but the sound was not unpleasant, more like a susurrus. Hands touched up my arms to my shoulders and then my neck like a feather being trailed over my skin. I'd never been touched so softly. While my brain screamed that he was about to bite me, I felt relaxed, strangely paralyzed, entranced by his eyes and lips as he drew nearer, until I could feel his breath, smell the peppery perfume I'd caught traces of earlier. My own breathing grew ragged as I felt warring impulses to wrench away from him and run — futile — or to swoon right there in his arms. I'd never felt so overwhelmed by someone's mere proximity. My head lolled back a little. I closed my eyes, expecting his grip to tighten or to feel teeth ripping my skin apart. Instead the same feather sensation fluttered across my open lips. I smelled more of him — as though I'd reached the source — and then his lips were on mine.

My pulse nearly took off like a helicopter, out of fear or arousal, I wasn't sure. But it was not a bad feeling. His lips were firm, but soft; his tongue on mine, unyielding; and he tasted like honeysuckle smelled. I sucked his taste into my mouth and he was cold, like an icicle on my tongue. I felt him all over, and _oh God,_ it was pure pleasure.

His hands on my back were everywhere at once, moving at a speed I was either too human or too lazy to acknowledge: snarling in my now-nearly-dry hair, caressing the deep valley where my spine was, tracing a path down to the sensitive spot where my hip met my leg, under my ass. I gasped into his mouth, and he slowed his touches and applied more pressure, rubbing his fingers back and forth, touching only that crease of so-sensitive skin, not even straying to my more private parts, and still I thought I would die from the pleasure. Those ignored parts tingled and throbbed, and I moaned into his mouth. He kissed me harder, his tongue fully covering mine; at that moment, I would have done anything he asked, murdering a hundred innocent fawns. I would have forgotten my own name.

He shifted his body closer, and I … _felt him_ … something, against my hip, and I knew, I knew we had passed a point where pulling away would be smart, knew I was on dangerous ground. I knew enough from reading to know that when a guy rubbed his junk on you, it was a lot harder to slow things down. Yet, I _wanted him_. I wanted to push him down to the ground —_as if I could — _and straddle his hips and rub every part of him against every part of me while keeping his tongue on mine. And, I wanted to run away.

My head buzzed in both frenzy and warning, and I felt my panties, wet from wanting him. His lips hardened against mine, his tongue nearly choking me, as I finally started to pull back, warning bells clearing some of the confusion from my head. He persisted, his mouth becoming too hard, sucking my lips and tongue, and his hands digging into my arms, holding me to him, until I cried out in pain. He broke apart from me then, and his eyes were no longer lidded and lustful, but severe, wide-open, black and commanding. He looked terrifying, and I was frozen in fear.

In an instant it was as though I'd imagined the glaring monster, and the flattering lover had returned.

"Forgive my passion," he said, all smooth touches and safe distances, while my arms ached where I'd just felt his hands. I wondered if bruises were forming. The worry must have showed on my face, for he rushed to reassure me: "You are like a beautiful confection, designed to tempt and torture me. To destroy a rare jewel such as you would be like defacing a priceless work of art. And yet, I wish I could keep you all for myself." The words, his accent, everything sounded romantic, yet I knew — I had seen his eyes, cold and dominating; was this was about my body only? And who was he, to make some claim to me? And why hadn't I run away?

"Come, little one," he said, giving me an almost shy, sidelong smile, and stretched out his hand, taking mine. "You must be hungry."

**&.&.&**

**A/N: Special thanks to Philadelphic and Adoraklutz, and all the UU ladies who encourage me/keep me sane! ^_^  
**


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